


For It's One, Two, Three Strikes You're Out

by maaaaa



Series: Puffer Bellies [3]
Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaaaa/pseuds/maaaaa
Summary: Jim and Blair deal with day-to-day life after Blair suffers a brain injury.
Series: Puffer Bellies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695412
Kudos: 5





	For It's One, Two, Three Strikes You're Out

**Author's Note:**

> My “Puffer Bellies” series was written between September 2007 and July 2009. It is a WIP that was never quite finished. The stories stand pretty well on their own, but should be read in order.

Blair moved around the loft, carrying out the tasks he was being given one at a time. He glanced at Jim now and then, smiling or shrugging, depending on the level of success he thought he’d achieved.

Jim sat at the table, trying his best not to coach him, feeling his muscles tense and his breath catching, wincing minutely if Blair appeared clumsy or unsure.

After several of the activities were completed Aubrey pulled the clipboard holding the checklist to her chest, crossed her arms over it, and looked directly at Jim.

“It’s an open book test, you know. You can give him help if he needs it.”

“But I thought the whole point of this is to see what he can do on his own, when I can’t be here with him,” Jim responded.

Aubrey took a good long look around the loft, noting how well Jim had arranged and organized the place over the past few months to suit Blair’s needs. Everything was neat and almost antiseptically tidy, except for Blair’s room. But she had a sneaking suspicion that’s the way things had been even before Blair’s injury.

She’d seen Jim in action with Blair and knew the successes Blair was achieving were due in large part to his dedication, patience, and devotion to making Blair stick to the tedious sets of mental and physical exercises prescribed by his medical team.

New since her last visit were the post-it notes. The place was plastered with enough of the sticky little squares of yellow to warrant her wishing she had stock in 3M. Some served as labels, some had simple directions printed out on them, and some just had a big red X slashed across them.

Blair looked over when he heard Jim’s voice, frowning, and stopped what he’d been doing.

Aubrey inclined her head toward him with a friendly nod, encouraging him to continue retrieving items from the cupboards and fridge and then she looked at Jim again.

Blair flung a furtive sidelong glance at Jim who must’ve given some indiscernible, at least to her eyes, form of approval because he went back to his task.

“Yes, this is an assessment,” she answered matter-of-factly. “It’s okay if he messes up or asks for help. He’s not going to get everything right. We need an honest evaluation in order to decide if this is going to work.”

Jim let his uncertainty leak into his voice. “But, then how, I mean he’s going to start a job tomorrow.” His eyes darted to Blair, who’d just set a pan on the counter next to the stovetop.

Blair picked up on Jim’s uneasiness and began to fidget, jiggling his right leg and scrunching his face.

Aubrey remained calm and answered Jim patiently. “Right. And he did fine on every one of the ten walkthroughs.” Her arched eyebrows and tone of voice emphasized the ten, reminding him he’d insisted on the overkill. “He knows how to get from there to here without any difficulty.”

Silva’s Market was four blocks over and two blocks up from Prospect. It was one of Blair’s favorite places, both before and after his injury. It was always crowded and noisy, attracting a wide array of customers and catering mainly to the elderly population of the area. The Silva’s were crazy about Blair and were more than happy to give him a part-time, light duty job helping out by sweeping and stocking in the afternoons.

After four months, Jim’s accumulated comp and family medical leave time was dwindling. If he wanted to remain a detective with Major Crimes he really needed to get back in the saddle. He arranged a half-time schedule for himself at the station, but that still left an overlap of several hours between when Blair finished work and he did.

As Blair’s occupational therapist, it was Aubrey’s job to determine if Blair was equipped and ready to return home safely and fend for himself for the few hours in-between. If not, she could help Jim decide if he should arrange for adult day care.

It was only a six-block walk from the market to the loft, carefully plotted and rehearsed, and with Mama Silva’s assistance of pointing him in the right direction, Blair had nailed it every single time.

“I can delay going back to work for a while yet if I have to,” Jim said, sounding uneasy.

At that moment Blair cleared his throat and spoke up. “Aubrey? What’s next?”

“Nonsense, Jim. Blair is ready for this.” Aubrey contended, still patient, but firm. “He needs this. And so do you.”

“Aubrey?” Blair insisted impatiently, the tone of his voice hinting at losing interest. He tilted his head upward and gazed at the skylight.

“Do you have soup and crackers?” Aubrey addressed Blair over her shoulder, still looking at Jim while trying to gauge the reason for his reluctance.

Blair continued looking up as he answered, tapping on a labeled Tupperware container. “Chicken noodle and tiny crackers. I love ‘em, right Jim?”

Can openers were still something of an obstacle for Blair, so he and Jim dished up a day or two’s worth of a variety of Blair’s favorites in the easy-open containers.

Jim smiled warmly at Blair and nodded. “That’s right Chief.”

“Why don’t you heat up the soup and ---,” Aubrey began.

“No. No, no, no,” Blair cut in. He jabbed a finger at the stove emphatically and shot Aubrey a dirty look. “One, two, three strikes, you’rrrrre out.” He curled his right hand into a fist, his thumb sticking out, and sliced it through the air in a somewhat stilted impression of a baseball umpire. His words held an edge of agitation that didn’t carry over into his body language.

Jim covered his eyes and shook his head, then moved his hand to his mouth to stifle the snorted chuckle he wasn’t able to suppress.

Aubrey’s startled expression wavered between the two men. “Excuse me?”

Blair put his hands on his hips and shook his head forlornly. “Nope, three strikes, man. Three strikes.”

Jim got up and went to Blair’s side. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “It’s okay Chief.”

“Three strikes?” Aubrey pressed. “Somebody want to explain?”

Blair smiled sheepishly and leaned into Jim’s side.

“Blair loves baseball,” Jim replied. “Knows a lot about it. Even helped break a big case once with what he knows.”

“A big case,” Blair agreed, speaking softly. “Let’s watch Field of Dreams. I like Field of Dreams.” His eyes brightened as he turned them on Jim with a hopeful look.

“Maybe later, Chief.” Jim mussed Blair’s curls and continued the explanation. “Blair does okay with turning the stove or burners on, but has trouble with turning them off. Not the mechanics. He just doesn’t always remember to turn them off. Anything like that, that could be dangerous, I give him three tries to show he can do it on his own.”

“Three strikes,” Blair stressed.

Jim agreed. “Yup, three strikes. After that, he doesn’t do it unless I’m with him.”

“Uh-huh,” Aubrey said skeptically. The knobs on the stove had post-its with red X’s adhered to them. She ran a quick mental inventory of where else she’d seen the cautionary labels.

“We practice what he has problems with, and anytime Blair feels he’s ready, he gets another at bat.”

“Jim says batter up,” Blair sang out.

Aubrey nodded her head approvingly. “All right. I get that. But Jim’s right here, Blair, so go ahead and give it a try. Batter up,” she added helpfully.

Blair gave her a puzzled look. “We’re pretending Jim’s not here. That’s what you said.” He turned his back to Jim, as if to prove his point. “I’m benched ‘til Jim says batter up.”

Jim crossed his arms and gave Aubrey a sweet, self-satisfied look from behind Blair’s back.

Aubrey ignored the look and instead seized the opportunity to make her point.

“After what you just heard him say, do you still think he’s not ready for this next step Jim? You really want a delay of game penalty?”

“Hockey,” Blair muttered with a distasteful grimace, shaking his head.

Jim’s features melted from icy smugness to a sort of stunned comprehension and then tightened into fierce determination.

He slapped Blair on the back and nudged him with a shoulder.

Blair sidestepped away from Jim and gave him a nasty glare. But when he saw the light in Jim’s eyes he grinned and bounced on the balls of his feet, watching Jim expectantly.

“Batter up,” Jim coached, ripping the sticky notes off the knobs. “Play ball.”


End file.
